I know this because it changes each day with the movement of the wind and the rubber of moto tires. Everyday the scene of the stars is distorted in an intriguing way by the very same movements. It swirls and twists on the barren road, and becomes a cloud of endlessness when it’s disturbed by intervention.

There’s no escaping its grasp or its wrath because its only enemy won’t fall from the heavens until April. This gives it complete and utter control. Staking a place from the trees by the roadside to my bathroom floor, it snakes through every crack and fills every void. Even your hair will fall victim to its movements. Water has ceased to fall from the sky, and probably hasn’t since mid-October.

Seeing a perfectly blue sky makes you question your sanity, but seeing the stars in the evening makes everything fall into place. Day after day you look up and see blue. But not a deep blue, it’s one that’s tinted by the ever present reality. Blanketing our lives with a hazy charm, everyone copes in their own way. Some try to protect their fortresses with man-made devices, but others simply bask in what the gods have derived.